


Manifesto

by Emospritelet



Category: Cobra (TV 2019), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Politics, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Belle French has just received word that her library is to close due to Government funding cuts. The Prime Minister happens to be visiting her town in search of positive headlines, and she decides to give him a piece of her mind.
Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Robert Sutherland (Cobra)
Comments: 171
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this from prompts on tumblr, so feel free to send me some there!

No matter how many times she read the letter in front of her, the message it delivered was no less devastating. Belle French could feel her lower lip tremble, her eyes stinging with the first tears born of hopelessness and frustration. After everything she had done, the arguments she had had with the Town Council and the evidence she had produced in support of her pleas, it appeared they had made their decision. 

_Dear Miss French, _the letter said. _It is with great regret that we write to inform you that the Council was unable to find funding for the library within the constraints of the coming year’s budget. Severe Government cuts to local authority funding have meant that some difficult decisions needed to be made, and it was felt that a further rise in Council Tax would have caused intolerable hardship to struggling families. With a straitened budget, therefore, the Council has decided to prioritise public safety and the long-awaited bypass, which will ensure Avonleigh’s future growth and prosperity…_

Belle tossed the letter aside, blinking rapidly as the first tears fell. It was over. Two years of fighting to keep her head above water, two years of fundraising in the close-knit community, and it had all been for nothing. The library would close at the end of March, probably for good. It meant that not only would she be out of a job, but also that the town of Avonleigh would lose its heart. She wanted to scream at the short-sighted decision of the local councillors, and rage at the politicians in Whitehall who had seen fit to cut local authority funding in the first place. 

She slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. A cup of tea was still steaming on the little table next to her, and she reached for it, glancing at the television as she did so. Her eyes narrowed as a familiar face appeared: a man in an expensive suit and crisp white shirt with short, light brown hair turning silver at his temples. He was shaking hands with people she recognised as local market traders, and she grasped the remote, flicking the volume back on.

_“And we are live with the Prime Minister on a walkabout in Avonleigh, one of the constituencies tipped as a possible gain for his party in the next election,” _announced the newsreader. _“The recent grant of a lucrative defence contract to local firm Arendelle plc, the town’s main employer, has provided a significant boost to Robert Sutherland’s poll ratings, and it seems that local residents are responding positively to the visit…”_

Belle jumped to her feet, fury rising up within her, a raging torrent. He had the _nerve_ to come to her town and act like he was some kind of _saviour_? How _dare_ he!

* * *

Sutherland had prepared himself for being heckled. Visiting a constituency like Avonleigh, which had switched parties four times in the past six elections, was always something of a risk. But it was a good news day; the announcement of the new defence contract would provide a massive boost to the town and guaranteed the continued presence of Arendelle plc in the area, with job security for the 2,500 staff the company employed. Given the general decline in other manufacturing sectors, it was expected that his visit would be welcomed by the locals, and so far that was borne out by those he had met. His Chief of Staff, Anna Marshall, walked just behind him, keeping a watchful eye on the press pack that was tagging along and filming the interactions. Once he had done the walk through the market, it was off to Arendelle to give a press conference. The papers would have something positive to report on, for once. 

“Good of you to come, Prime Minister!” 

A burly stallholder held out his hand, and Sutherland responded with a nod and a smile, reaching out to take it.

“Glad to be here,” he said. “How’s business?”

“It’d be better if we didn’t have so much V.A.T. to pay.”

“Well, we’re looking into that,” said Sutherland. “Watch for an announcement in the next budget.”

“Keep it moving,” said Anna, in an undertone, and Sutherland shook the man’s hand again and walked on, reporters keeping pace with cameras on their shoulders.

“Prime Minister, is it true about Arendelle?” called a woman from a nearby fish stall. Sutherland smiled.

“It certainly is,” he said. “The new defence contract should ensure the presence of Arendelle in the local area for at least another ten years.”

There was a raucous cheer amongst the market stalls, and Sutherland smiled, nodding to the eager faces around him.

“I’ll be heading to the firm to provide more details once we’re done here,” he added. “I expect full coverage in the news later today. This is an excellent development for the future of Avonleigh, and ensures that this town will continue to prosper under a Government that delivers on its promises.”

More cheers, and Sutherland could feel that familiar warm glow of satisfaction at the success of a policy decision.

“Nicely done,” murmured Anna. “I think we’re almost finished here, so let’s head back to the car.”

“Prime Minister!”

Sutherland turned as a young woman with brunette curls and a determined look on her face marched towards him through the crowd. He held out a hand, smiling as she approached.

“Good morning,” he said. “Delighted to be here.”

“You’ve got a bloody nerve!” she snapped, putting hands on hips. “After the cuts you made to local authorities, you think you can come here and swan around the marketplace like some - some _conquering hero_?”

Sutherland blinked, letting the hand drop back to his side.

“Because of _your policies_, the people of Avonleigh are going to lose their library,” she went on. “The one place they can come for free computer access! The one place that runs literacy programmes for children and adults! Have you any idea of the _damage_ you’re doing?”

The woman was glaring at him, clear blue eyes in a pale oval of a face, her cheeks flushed with indignation. She was also tiny, no taller than five feet four, and brimming over with righteous anger. 

“Alright, let’s move along,” said Anna firmly, moving to block the woman from his view, but Sutherland held up a hand. He had expected some opposition to his presence, after all, and he had to be seen to deal with it. The cameras didn’t stop rolling for his discomfort.

“Ma’am, the Government has been putting millions more into local services than the previous administration,” he said calmly. “But we have a finite budget, and—”

“Oh, don’t give me that _bollocks_!” she snapped. “You can always find money for defence contracts, can’t you? There’s always money to fund war and death and tragedy! But ask for a _tiny fraction_ of that to do some bloody good in this world and it’s treated as the most unreasonable thing ever! Why is that?”

“—a finite budget,” went on Sutherland, as though she hadn’t interrupted. “Which means that difficult decisions always have to be made.” 

The woman let out a humourless laugh.

“Difficult decisions?” she demanded. “Have you ever had to decide between whether to heat your home or feed your children? Have you had to decide to sell your car to pay the rent and keep your family off the streets? The people in this town make difficult decisions every day, and the first things to go are luxuries like new books and after-school activities! Where else could they come for these things but the library?”

Sutherland wanted to sigh.

“Decisions on local authority spending are not made by my Government,” he said coolly. “Perhaps you should direct your concerns to your local Council.”

“Oh, you think I haven’t already done that?” she asked. “You may not make decisions at a local level, but you’re the one holding the bloody purse-strings! You’re the one who decides how much to cut local funding!”

“Actually, it’s the Chancellor of the Exchequer and—” 

“Is the literacy of the electorate not important to you?” she went on, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Or is it that you want to keep them in the dark so they can sit around and parrot whatever _bullshit_ you drip-feed the news outlets?”

“Ma’am,” put in Anna. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

“No, it never is, is it?” spat the woman, blue eyes flashing. “Well, I’ve tried being polite and going through the proper channels! I’ve tried following the bloody rules and what good did it do?”

“Perhaps you could put all this in a letter,” said Sutherland, relieved at how calm he sounded. “I assure you that—”

“You treat the less fortunate in this country like a problem that can be ignored until it’s election year, then bought off with cheap gimmicks or distracted by xenophobic talking points!”

“Ma’am—”

“Well, it won’t stand!” she interrupted. “The people of Avonleigh will see _right through you_, mark my words! It won’t stand!”

She turned on her toes, dark curls swinging, and stormed off back the way she had come. Sutherland blinked rapidly. There was a buzz of conversation in the air around him, but he barely heard it. He felt as though he had been standing in the path of a grit-blaster, his skin flayed and raw. Anna stepped up beside him, giving him a very level look.

“Cameras have just stopped rolling,” she said. “I’d say let’s get to Arendelle before all the editors decide to rewrite their headlines, but I think we both know what’s gonna be playing on the news this evening. And it’s not going to be the new contract.”

“Anna,” said Sutherland. “Who the ever-loving _fuck_ was that?”


	2. Chapter 2

Politicians had to develop thick skins, and Robert Sutherland was no exception. He’d been told in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself by members of the electorate more times than he could count, and so being chewed up one side and down the other by a petite brunette shouldn’t have fazed him. And yet it had. The visit to Avonleigh was supposed to have been a success, a chance to show the Opposition that his party had succeeded where theirs had failed, a chance to get some positive headlines running in election year. He hadn’t reckoned on meeting the librarian of a provincial town with an axe to grind and no sense of decorum. Sutherland was in a bad mood, and his staff sensed it and wisely kept out of his way. Only Anna chose to spend more than a few minutes in his company, but given that she had _also _told him to go fuck himself more times than he could count, he didn’t mind that.

“Stop tapping your fingers,” she said absently, as she went through some paperwork. “I know you’re angry, but it’s bloody annoying.”

Sutherland grimaced, curling his fingers into a fist to stop them drumming on the arm of the chair. The press conference at Arendelle plc had gone as expected: a few questions on the defence contract and an irritating number of questions about the young woman who had confronted him, and the effect that Government cuts were having on public services. It was now mid-afternoon, and Sutherland and Anna were closeted in his hotel suite, going over the plans for the next day’s visit to a local school and hospital. Which should pass off without incident. Or so he hoped. The way things were going there would be a group of militant eight-year-olds manning barricades and calling for him to be guillotined.

“Any word on how this is playing on the news?” he asked Anna.

“Nothing you want to hear,” she said lightly.

“Fuck!” He pushed up out of the chair, and began to pace again. “So it’s all been for bloody nothing, then! We drag our arses hundreds of miles north to celebrate some good fucking news, and it gets completely derailed by - by…”

“By a young woman who just found out that she’s losing her livelihood, and the town an important public service,” finished Anna, looking up from her papers. “Apparently she got the letter telling her the library would lose its funding about half an hour before she stormed into the market square to tear you a new arsehole.”

“That’s not my fault!” he snapped, aware that he was sounding petulant, and Anna sighed.

“We can try to argue our case for spending constraints, of course, but she’s already won the battle for public opinion,” she said. “The _Today_ programme has asked for someone to do the ten past eight interview tomorrow morning. I was going to tell them no one was available, but if you want to press the issue…” 

Sutherland waved an impatient hand, still pacing.

“If we don’t send anyone at all, we stand no chance of turning press attention back the way we want, do we?” he said. “Maybe we should send Ursula.”

Anna pursed her lips, nodding slowly.

“She’s calm and unlikely to be pushed off course,” she agreed. “I’ll give her a call, tell her to prepare.”

“And what do we know about the young woman herself?” he asked.

“Her name is Belle French,” she said. “She’s twenty-eight, and she’s been librarian in Avonleigh for the past three years.”

“She sounded Australian.”

“Studied at Cambridge, and decided to stay,” she said. “She’s a British citizen now.”

“Is she likely to be giving many interviews?”

“I would, if it was me.”

Sutherland growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation, and Anna sat back, shuffling her papers.

“Apparently both _The Sun_ and _The Mirror_ are claiming to be running exclusives with her, but there again I’m told she’s given an interview to _The Guardian_ too, so it might just be a load of bollocks from the tabloids as usual.”

“Well, they’ll have moved onto something else tomorrow,” he said dismissively, and she gave him a level look.

“Whether or not that’s true, the focus is still on her, and not on the 2,500 jobs we secured for the town,” she said. “She had the nerve to say to your face what thousands of people are probably moaning about over their pints. The tabloids love her.”

“They bloody would,” he muttered, still pacing.

“Of course,” she added, “it helps that she’s very pretty.”

“Can’t say I noticed,” he lied.

“Hmm.”

She didn’t sound convinced, but let it go.

“Fiona Black’s already been doing the rounds of the broadcasters,” she said, and Sutherland whirled to face her. “Apparently she called Miss French to express her support and to commiserate with her on the harmful effects of Government spending cuts on local services.”

“Oh, I just bet she did,” he muttered. The leader of the Opposition had been a thorn in his side ever since winning her party’s nomination for the leadership. “They’re not gonna let it drop, are they?”

Anna tossed her paperwork onto the coffee table and fixed him with a look, opening her mouth.

“Alright, fine,” he said wearily, and she closed her mouth with a snap.

“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”

“No, but you’re about to tell me I should do something, it’s probably something I’m not gonna like, and it’s probably the right thing to do, so let’s hear it.”

She smirked a little at that.

“I think you should meet her,” she said, and held up a hand as he let out an indignant noise. “It’s election year. The papers will forget about this, but you know full well that the footage of her calling you a knobhead to your face will be circulating every time you go out on the campaign trail.”

“So I should let her call me a knobhead in private?” he said sarcastically. “Yes, what a wonderful idea!”

“No, you should tell her that you recognise and appreciate her passion for public service, and you want to know what the Government can do to help ensure that people don’t get left behind as the country moves forward.”

Sutherland stopped pacing, fingers tapping against his lips as he thought it over.

“Alright,” he said. “I think it’s probably best to face this thing head on, not run away from it. You’re right, that footage is gonna play every time I leave Downing Street otherwise.”

“It’s already trending on Twitter,” she said. “Hashtag FuckThePM. Not sure if that’s meant as an insult or a suggestion.”

Sutherland’s mouth flattened.

“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of humour?”

“Always disappears when I get chewed out on live television,” growled Sutherland. “I presume you’re intending to make a press opportunity out of this?”

“I was thinking that now she’s had a chance to yell at you, she might be a little calmer,” she said. “Showing that you’re listening to people’s concerns will play well.”

He sighed, letting his head roll back.

“She won’t agree.”

“I think she will,” said Anna. “Just let me talk to her.”

“Time’s tight,” he said. “I want this done before tomorrow’s headlines make the press.”

“I’ll see if she’s willing to meet this evening,” she said. “Cameras outside for the meeting, but the two of you talk in private.”

He hesitated, but nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “See if she’ll meet me.”


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, Belle had to lock the library door.

She hated doing it; the library was supposed to be open to all, a quiet refuge from the bustle of the town, an oasis of calm in the busy lives of its residents. Of course, whenever she held children’s activities and after-school clubs, it was a riotous mess, but her regulars knew the times that such things ran, and arranged their own reading time around them. Between five-thirty and seven p.m. was the quiet time, the time when her after-school class had gone home and her evening book club hadn’t yet started. It was a time that Belle cherished, a time to re-shelve used books, tidy up the library, and even get in a little reading herself. Or at least it had been, until she had chosen to give the Prime Minister a very public dressing-down on live television.

She didn’t regret what she had said, but she hadn’t anticipated the reaction it would cause. There had been so many calls from radio stations and news outlets that she had left the phone off the hook, and she had been plagued all day by visiting reporters trying to get a story out of her. While she had agreed to interviews with some of them—they were paying her, after all, and every little helped her to keep the library going—others had asked some deeply personal questions that seemed to have no relevance to the subject of library closures. After the fourth time of telling a tabloid journalist that her relationship status was none of his business, she scrawled a sign telling genuine library patrons (‘genuine’ was underlined twice) to knock if they wanted access, but otherwise the library was closed.

She pushed her cart around the few desks which had been abandoned when the journalists descended, picking up the abandoned books and stacking them in order. It was quiet outside, so perhaps the news was being made elsewhere; no doubt the Prime Minister had some other policy announcement to make. He was probably on his way back to Downing Street, no doubt cursing the provinces and all those who resided there. Particularly her. 

She remembered the brief look of shock in his dark eyes as she had shouted, her words tumbling over one another in her anger and frustration. Had he really never been spoken to like that before? She found that hard to imagine, and he had remained perfectly calm as she yelled at him, so perhaps he simply didn’t care what people thought. He had been shorter in person than she had anticipated, but the way she had been feeling it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been seven feet tall.

A knock at the library door made her eyes narrow, and she clutched the book she was holding to her chest, heart thumping. Was it another tabloid reporter? The knock had been low and light, not the insistent pounding all the journalists had used, so perhaps not. Setting down the book, she made her way to the door, drawing the bolt and opening it a crack. A woman stood on the other side, short blonde hair above a brief, warm smile and a light grey trench coat. Belle had a vague memory of the woman trying to get between her and the Prime Minister mid-rant.

“Miss French?” she said. “My name’s Anna Marshall. I’m the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff. Would you mind if I come in? It won’t take long.”

“What do you want?” asked Belle nervously, and Anna glanced over her shoulder.

“You know, the press pack hasn’t noticed me yet,” she said. “I think they all went to the pub for dinner. The library’s pretty central, though, and if they see me talking to you, they’re bound to take an interest.”

Belle hesitated, but took a step back, holding open the door, and Anna gave her that brief smile again and stepped inside. Belle closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, and Anna turned on her heel to face her.

“Well,” she said. “You certainly made an impression.”

“If you came here to - to _threaten_ me, you’re wasting your time.” Belle pushed away from the door and stomped over to her book cart, stacking books in the crook of one arm. “I said what I said, and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m not here to threaten you, Miss French,” said Anna. “I’m here to give you an opportunity.”

Belle paused, fingers dancing across the spine of a Kazuo Ishiguro novel.

“What kind of opportunity?”

“A meeting with the PM.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, turning slowly on her toes.

“What?”

“A meeting,” said Anna simply. “A nice, professional one-to-one, with no one yelling or tossing insults around, just a serious discussion of the issues that are affecting you.”

Belle set down the books she had picked up, taking a step forward.

“Why would he agree to that?” she asked. “I pretty much told him he was a bloody arsehole.”

“Pretty much.” 

Anna looked amused, and Belle folded her arms, frowning.

“So is this some plot to - to _spin_ the issue and put some sort of positive light on it?”

“Course it is,” said Anna. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get something out of it as well. Genuine consideration of the issues you raised, in return for favourable media coverage for the Prime Minister. Sounds like everyone wins.” 

“Talk is cheap,” said Belle dryly. “How will it help me keep the library open?”

“Well, you never know, there might just be some policy changes off the back of it.”

“Not bloody likely,” scoffed Belle. “None of the politicians I’ve contacted has cared, why should he?”

“It’s election year,” said Anna, as though it were obvious.

“So it’s about winning votes, then?” said Belle scathingly, and Anna shrugged.

“Isn’t it always?”

“Why on earth would I want to help him with that?” she asked. “It’s his fault I’m losing this place.”

Anna sighed.

“Look, you actually made some interesting points when you weren’t insulting him,” she said. “And you’re right: sometimes politicians get so caught up in the Westminster bubble that they don’t see how policies affect people on the ground. Particularly in small northern constituencies like Avonleigh. So here’s your chance to change that. Strike a blow for the little man.”

Belle pursed her lips, tapping her fingers against her elbows.

“You know, Fiona Black called me earlier,” she said. “She’s also trying to use me as a prop for her party. If she can overturn the cuts made by this Government, I’d be more than happy to appear alongside her.”

Anna snorted.

“If you thought Fiona Black could be trusted to keep her promises, you’d have taken her up on her offer,” she said, and Belle pulled a face.

“Well, let’s just say I’m really not interested in being in the middle of a fight between those two.”

“Very wise of you,” said Anna. “So if we’re done talking about Fiona Black, you have a choice. You can sit down with the Prime Minister, talk through your concerns and possibly bring about some changes in policy, or you can be remembered as the woman who yelled at him in a market.”

“The latter _was_ pretty satisfying,” said Belle, and Anna shrugged.

“Then I suppose it depends how much you really care about delivering for local people, doesn’t it?” she said. “Or perhaps you’re all talk and no follow-through, like Fiona Black.”

Belle bristled, feeling anger surge within her again.

“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll meet him!”

“Good,” said Anna lightly. “In that case, come to the Swan Hotel at seven, and ask for me at the desk.”

“I can’t, I run a book club at seven.”

“Eight, then,” said Anna.

“Eight-fifteen,” said Belle stiffly.

“Okay.”

Anna smiled at her and turned towards the door, before slowly swivelling back.

“There’ll be cameras to catch the two of you greeting one another,” she said. “But the meeting itself will be private. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we’re aiming for civility in front of the press.”

“I can behave myself,” said Belle, in a very dry tone.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll keep him in line, too.” That brief smile again. “I’ll see you at eight-fifteen, Miss French.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: "dat handshake in front of the press"

Belle was nervous, and irritated with herself because of it.

She told herself there was no need; whatever came of the evening she had already made her point. News programmes were covering the story; the BBC and Sky had already started running pieces on the state of local authority funding and municipal libraries, and the clip of her confronting the Prime Minister was all over social media. It was likely that the next day’s headlines would provide more coverage, and she was pleased that the news outlets were talking about the issues that affected real people in real towns, rather than the usual infighting at Westminster. She was aware that it was probably too late to save Avonleigh’s library, but while there was a glimmer of hope, she was determined to keep fighting.

To that end, she used the little time she had before book club to dig out the research she had been doing when trying to plead for the library’s continued funding. Everything was still in the colour-coded binder she had put together for one of her many meetings with the Council. She even had the presentation she had designed, prompts on a handful of cards to accompany the Powerpoint slides saved on a memory stick, although she very much doubted the Prime Minister would want to see it.

Belle thought she would have difficulty concentrating in the book club, but given that the members were more interested in talking about her impromptu television appearance than about  _ Little Women _ , it didn’t really matter. Merida even showed her a YouTube video of her rant, edited to include captions of what Sutherland was allegedly feeling at the time. Which seemed to alternate between being outraged and turned on. The other club members thought it was hilarious.

“You’re my hero,” said Leroy, grinning at her above his bristling black beard. “Look at Sutherland’s face! I’m willing to bet no one ever talks to him like that.”

Leroy was short and stocky, a gruff hospital porter with a heart of gold and a secret, burning love for Astrid, the pretty nurse who worked shifts and could only attend book club every other week. He always looked around for her eagerly whenever he arrived, and the look of disappointment on his face when she wasn’t there made Belle’s heart melt. 

“Gave it to him with both bloody barrels!” chuckled Merida, tossing fiery red curls over her shoulder. “Serve the bastard right! Like he has the slightest  _ clue  _ what goes on in towns like this! Bloody London elite! They’re all the same!”

“He’s Scottish,” Belle pointed out, and she sniffed.

“Yeah, but he’s  _ posh  _ Scottish. They’re a breed apart, Belle, you mark my words. Plus he’s an MP. They go down to the House of Commons and check their morals at the door.”

“They can’t  _ all  _ be like that,” said Belle, wondering why the hell she was defending politicians when she had spent years cursing them out.

“Maybe not all of ‘em,” acknowledged Merida. “But our MP  _ definitely  _ is. Bloody Leopold White. When was the last time you saw the bastard in this town?”

“Last election,” said Leroy. “Came to the hospital and got in the damn way. Bet he does the same thing this year.”

Merida snorted, shifting in her seat.

“Someone should unseat the bastard,” she said, and her eyes widened. “Hey, Belle!  _ You  _ should run!”

Belle sighed.

“I have zero interest in running for Parliament,” she said. “I just want to save the library, and I probably won’t even be able to do that! In two months’ time I’ll be out of a job!”

“Just keep the pressure up,” said Merida. “They’ll have to do something, it’s all over the news!”

“Yeah, and in a few days’ time, they’ll have moved onto the next story, and no one will care,” sighed Belle. “I’ll just have to make the most of it while I can. I’ve done some interviews, I’m speaking to the Prime Minister tonight, and I’m going to contact the Council tomorrow, see if public opinion has changed their minds. I doubt it.”

“Maybe we should protest,” suggested Merida. “Keep the momentum going. I can make placards.”

“I can wave the placards and yell stuff,” offered Leroy, and Belle pursed her lips.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll let you know what Mr Sutherland has to say for himself.”

“Just don’t let him sweet-talk you,” warned Merida. “These politicians are masters at wriggling out of their responsibilities. They’re all great at talking without saying anything, you know? If he makes any promises, get them in writing. Or on camera. Or both.”

Belle grinned.

“I’ll try.”

* * *

She was surprised not to encounter any cameras on her short walk from the library to the Swan Hotel, but there again she supposed none of the reporters wanted to miss the meeting. Anna met her in the hotel reception, smiling briefly and gesturing towards the corridor behind her.

“We’re in the Marchland Suite,” she said. “The press are crammed into the room next door, waiting to capture the two of you meeting. They’ll probably fire questions at you, but don’t feel you have to answer.”

Belle nodded, suddenly, painfully nervous. She fingered the strap of her satchel, in which the folder containing her research was sitting. Her bag had already been searched by two large men whom she presumed were Sutherland’s security team, and the formality of it all made her very aware that she would shortly be in a room with the most powerful man in the country. It made her feel tiny, insignificant, and she took a deep breath, trying to draw courage into her lungs. Anna gave her a sidelong look as they mounted a flight of stairs.

“Chin up,” she said. “He doesn’t bite.”

Belle nodded wordlessly, and the next moment they were stepping through a doorway into an opulent room decorated in pale cream and sage green, filled with waiting reporters. Anna led her through the throng towards a set of double doors, rapping smartly three times with her knuckles. Cameras started whirring, a ripple of flashing lights exploding in the air, and Belle could feel her pulse thumping in her throat and behind her eyes as the doors opened and the Prime Minister stepped out, nodding to the waiting reporters and smiling broadly as he adjusted his cuffs. 

The flashes of two dozen cameras were creating a strobe effect that was making Belle want to squeeze her eyes shut. It was all a little overwhelming, and she felt herself freeze in place as Sutherland stepped towards her, reaching out with his right hand. He was dressed in a different suit to that he had worn earlier, but it was just as expensive, and fitted him just as well. His tie was blue, his shirt crisp and crease-free, the cuffs just poking out from beneath his jacket to display gold cufflinks. To Belle’s great surprise, she found herself imagining what he looked like first thing in the morning, unshaven and dishevelled with heavy eyes. The image that came to her mind was also shirtless, and her eyes widened as she wondered where the hell  _ that  _ had come from. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she told herself to get a bloody grip.

“Miss French,” said Sutherland, smiling as he grasped her hand. “Good of you to come.”

His hand was warm and smooth, his fingers closing firmly around hers, and he used his other hand to pat and squeeze her upper arm, as though sending her some sort of reassurance, or holding her in place. It made her eyes narrow, but she nodded a little stiffly, shaking his hand. He had a politician’s smile, white teeth and fake warmth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were nice eyes, though, and she wondered what he looked like when he was greeting someone he actually wanted to meet.

“Prime Minister,” she said cautiously, and his smile widened a little.

“I’m grateful that you took time out of your busy evening to meet with me,” he added. “Hopefully we can have a constructive discussion.”

“I hope so, too.”

The flashes were off-putting, making her feel somewhat dazed, but Sutherland didn’t seem to notice. She supposed he was used to it. He was still shaking her hand, and she realised it was so each of the cameras could catch the perfect shot. He was clearly adept at working the press to his advantage, and it made her very aware that this encounter was as much for his benefit as for hers. Probably more so. It also made her want to pull back, but she stared into his eyes, feeling her jaw tighten as she stood firm. Eventually he let go of her hand, and she resisted the urge to rub her palm against her thigh.

“Well, if you could come this way,” said Sutherland pleasantly, gesturing to the room behind him.

“Belle, what are you hoping to achieve tonight?” called a reporter, and Belle blinked, her brain suddenly blank in the face of flashing cameras and thrusting microphones.

“I - uh…” she faltered. “I…”

“We’re just opening a dialogue,” said Sutherland smoothly. “Miss French raised a number of interesting points in our last meeting, and I want to make sure that the people’s voices are heard.”

_ Our last meeting? Interesting way to say I yelled at you in the marketplace. _ Belle swallowed hard, her throat dry, and lifted her chin.  _ Come on, you can do this! _

“What’s your opinion on the Government’s record on public funding?” asked a balding man with thick glasses, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“I believe my opinion on that topic is already doing the rounds on social media,” she said dryly. “Maybe you missed it.”

There was a ripple of laughter. Sutherland had placed his hand on her shoulder, a light pressure that she knew was designed to get her walking. She dug in her heels, shoulders lifting a little.

“Do you still believe the library can be saved?” asked another reporter eagerly.

“I’ll believe that until they lock me out of the place,” she said, and there was a babble of voices as they all asked questions at once. A woman in a bright pink coat shoved forward a little.

“Belle, do you think this is a genuine overture on the Prime Minister’s part, or just a photo opportunity?” she asked.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she said. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Sutherland’s expression was blank and impassive, but a tiny muscle twitched in his cheek. She felt his fingers tighten a little, and the white-toothed smile slithered back into place.

“Right, well, I promised Miss French a private meeting,” he said. “If you could excuse us, please, we have a lot to discuss.”

There were more shouted questions, but Anna stepped into the line of sight, motioning to the reporters to move back. Belle allowed herself to be steered through the double doors into a plush meeting room, a shining mahogany table and eight chairs on one side, and a squashy leather couch and two armchairs around a glass and chrome coffee table on the other. The doors behind her closed, shutting out the noise from the waiting press, and Sutherland stalked to the table, placing his palms on its gleaming surface and fixing Belle with a dark-eyed stare.

“Well, Miss French,” he said, his voice a little lower and rougher than it had been before. “I believe we have things to discuss.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sutherland eyed her for a moment, then pushed himself upright, gesturing to the side where a tray sat, containing a teapot and taller pot of coffee, two cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl.

“Can I offer you some tea, Miss French?” he asked. “Or perhaps some coffee? They just brought it in before you came.”

“Thank you. Tea, please.”

He nodded, and poured a cup for her, setting it on the table and pushing the milk jug and sugar towards her. Belle added milk and stirred, setting the spoon in the saucer.

“I trust you made it to the hotel without incident,” he added, as he poured coffee for himself. “The press can be rather - intrusive - I find. Have they been bothering you?”

“I had to lock the library doors to keep them out,” she said flatly, and a tiny smile twisted the corners of his mouth.

“Well, that’s notoriety for you,” he said lightly. “Try being in Government.”

“I have no desire for more press scrutiny, thanks,” she said.

“I very much doubt they’ll be going anywhere until we move on,” he said. “You should try not to let it bother you. It’ll blow over in a few days.”

“You hope, right?”

Sutherland gave her a brief, side-long look, and stirred his coffee, tapping the spoon on the edge of the cup.

“Please, take a seat,” he said. “You’ll find the couch quite comfortable.”

“I prefer to have this discussion here,” said Belle, slipping the satchel from her shoulder onto the table and opening it up. 

“As you wish,” he said, with a tiny shrug.

He took a seat opposite her and leaned on his elbows, threading his fingers together. He had long fingers, with clean, manicured nails. Nice hands and nice eyes. Belle pressed her lips together, and turned her attention to the contents of her satchel, trying to gather her thoughts. She pulled out the folder she had brought, setting it in front of her, and took a drink of tea. It was hot, and she winced, setting the cup down. It rattled in the saucer, and she realised her hands were shaking. Squaring her jaw, she clutched the edges of the folder, trying to think of what to say. Sutherland was looking supremely calm, and it only made her more nervous. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Well,” he said. “I came up here to give the public some good news. To celebrate a local success story. You appear to have derailed that somehow.”

“Sorry I ruined your photo-opp with some hard truths.”

“Are you?”

“Not really.”

Sutherland sucked his teeth, eyeing her cautiously, as though she was a wild creature that he was unsure how to handle. _ Good, be wary_, she thought. _ Corner me and I’ll bite. _

“Might I ask why the library is closing?” 

“Because the Council doesn’t have enough money,” she said. “Or - or at least they _ do _, but they’ve decided to spend it elsewhere. The new bypass, for one.”

“Which will undoubtedly provide the town with much-needed infrastructure,” he said. “It’s a long-term investment for the good of all.”

“You think education and literacy aren’t?”

Sutherland didn’t answer, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip.

“How long have you been running the library?” 

“Three years, give or take.”

“You must have gotten to know Avonleigh’s residents fairly well in that time.”

“I like to think so.”

“I suppose the library used to be sort of a focal point, in towns like this,” he added. “I remember going to one as a child in my own home town.”

“That’s how I’ve tried to run it,” said Belle. 

“Of course, things change over time,” he went on. “People take in information in different ways these days, and technology makes a lot of the old ways redundant, but that doesn’t mean libraries can’t move with the times, does it?”

Belle felt her eyes narrow.

“There’s still value in the printed word,” she said. “And technology’s only useful when you have access to it.”

“Which most people do these days.”

“Most isn’t all, is it?”

“So the majority of your patrons are the elderly and unemployed, I presume?” he asked. “Well, we certainly want to ensure the continued provision of excellent services for disadvantaged groups.”

“Which means what, exactly?” she said, and he gave her that politician’s smile again.

“Funding is allocated on the basis of need, with budgeting at a local level delegated to relevant authorities.”

She reached for her cup to give herself a chance to think, taking a sip and feeling intense relief when her hand remained steady.

“So you’re telling me the library closing is the Council’s fault,” she surmised. “Weird, they’re singing a different song.”

Sutherland spread his hands, as though trying to show how open he was being. It made her eyes narrow further.

“The Government wants to give local communities the final say in how they apportion taxpayer funds,” he said smoothly. “We prefer to relinquish central control and delegate spending decisions to those on the ground, who know how best to prioritise the needs of their people. It seems that in this case, from what you’ve told me, the need for a library was considered less important than other spending priorities.”

Belle stared at him for a moment, processing what she had just heard.

“That’s bullshit,” she said bluntly, and Sutherland’s brows drew down.

“Is there a problem?” he asked quietly, and Belle frowned.

“You’re basically trying to tell me this has nothing to do with you,” she said flatly. “But it’s central Government that controls funding, right?”

“We don’t set local authority rates or interfere in budgets.”

“Maybe not, but don’t try to tell me that’s the only source of funding those authorities get, because we both know that’s not true,” she said. “And we both _ also _know that central Government has slashed payment to local authorities under your administration. Which leaves them short of funds.”

“Difficult decisions have had to be made.”

“Really?” Belle folded her arms. “Do you tell that to big business when it comes knocking?”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read online, Miss French,” he said, in a bored voice.

“I’m well aware of that, don’t patronise me,” she said coldly. “Critical thinking’s something I teach in one of my after-school classes, I don’t need lessons in it from you.”

“Nor do I need lessons in the assessment of beneficial services,” he said, matching her tone.

“Then we both know where we stand, hmm?” she said. “Which begs the question: why ask me to come tonight?”

Sutherland pulled a face.

“I thought you wanted to use your new-found notoriety to discuss the fate of local libraries,” he said, looking irritated. “I thought it best that we start with a realistic assessment of the current status, that’s all. I’d hate you to have unrealistic expectations.”

“More bullshit,” she muttered under her breath, and Sutherland raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

Belle leaned on the table, watching his eyes flick up and down momentarily before fixing on hers.

“I think we both know that you’d rather not be speaking to me right now,” she said. “I have no doubt that it’s only due to the coverage of me yelling at you that you’ve decided you have to. This was as much of a press opportunity for you as it is for me.”

Sutherland frowned.

“I’ve made no secret of that.”

“So maybe we can stop with the fake concern, I’m _ tired_,” she said coldly. “Don’t act like you care about the fate of this library or any other when it’s your Government destroying them!”

He sat back, tapping his fingers against the table top.

“Antagonising me won’t help your cause, Miss French,” he said. “I deal with more difficult people than you everyday. Most days three times before breakfast.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she said. “And I’m well aware that you’re the one with the power here. All I have is a voice, and the inability to shut the hell up and sit down when people tell me I should.” 

His mouth twitched a little at that.

“I won’t deny that you’ve provided a - distraction - that we hadn’t anticipated,” he said. “But perhaps I would have reacted in the same way, were I in your position.”

“Except you never have been, have you?” she retorted. “I imagine you’ve never had to go without anything in your life, right? Never had people dismissing your opinion and shutting you down because of your gender or your colour or - or the fact that you’re poor or illiterate! You have no idea what it’s like to have nothing, do you?”

“Does that mean you think I stand no chance of making the right decisions regarding those that _ do _have nothing?” he asked mildly. “By that rationale, no one with a job should be a public servant. Something of a contradiction, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s a prime example of _ reductio ad absurdum _ and you know it!”

She could feel her fury building, her hands tightening on the folder, and Sutherland sat back in his chair. His eyes were very dark in the light from the lamps around them, his skin warm-toned and his hair gleaming, flecks of gold and silver in amongst the brown. His forefinger was running across his mouth as he watched her, an unreadable expression on his face, the pad of his finger gently pressing against the soft fullness of his lower lip as it passed. For a moment of pure insanity she found herself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, and she licked her lips, blinking rapidly. _ Good God, woman, get yourself together! You’re supposed to want to yell at him, not bang him senseless! _

“Getting angry won’t help you make your point,” he said quietly. “It just means that I’m more likely to stop listening.”

“Did you have any intention of listening?”

Sutherland let his hand drop, and the tip of his tongue ran across his lower lip, making it glisten briefly.

“Would it surprise you if I said yes?”

Belle huffed in frustration.

“Wow, you politicians really love answering questions with more questions, huh?”

He smiled a little at that.

“Force of habit,” he said. “How about I ask you a question you want to answer. Exactly what is it that you want from me?”

Belle hesitated.

“I want to save my library,” she said simply. “And all other libraries in this country.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of my hands.”

“No it _ isn’t_!” she insisted. “Not if you don’t want it to be! Unless you’re saying that the Prime Minister has less power than - than a local Council leader!”

Sutherland gave her a thin smile.

“I don’t even get paid as much as some of them,” he remarked. “If you’re trying to appeal to my ego, Miss French, you’re wasting your time.”

“This whole meeting’s been a waste of my time, it seems,” she said bitterly. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said insincerely. “What’s in the folder you keep fondling?”

“Research,” she said stiffly. “Research I put together for my meetings with the Council. For all the good it did.”

“Leave it here, I’ll read it.”

_ Sure you will_, she thought wryly, but tossed the folder across the table to him. Sutherland slapped a hand down on it, fingers pushing up onto their tips to hold it in place. 

“Was there something else?” he asked.

“I - I could take you through the research, if you wanted,” she said.

“Much as you need no lessons in critical thinking, I need no help with reading a few documents,” he said coldly, and Belle felt her jaw clench.

“So this is you patting me on the head and telling me to be a good little girl and stop bothering you, is it?” she said, and he smirked at her.

“You’re more than capable of interpreting intent and meaning, I’m sure,” he said dryly. “I’ll get this back to you before I leave Avonleigh, Miss French.”

Belle hesitated, bouncing on her toes, and he continued to watch her with that flat, dark-eyed stare.

“If that’s all?” he said.

She realised that she had screwed up, that she had allowed her frustration to get the better of her, and that she had, no doubt, played right into his hands in doing so. God, she wanted to _ scream_! She swallowed down the bitter words she wanted to spit at him, and raised her chin, trying for a calmness she didn’t feel.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said stiffly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t reach an agreement.”

“I’m sorry too.” He was already looking away, to where his empty coffee cup sat. “My Chief of Staff will see you out. Good evening, Miss French.”

He began pouring himself more coffee, not looking at her, and Belle wanted to stamp her foot. Turning on her heel, she headed for the door, frustration boiling over inside her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ladysybil prompted: 'at some point in Manifesto, I’d like Sutherland to say, “What the actual fuck?” '

Sutherland glanced up at the sound of a door closing, and sat back in his chair with a sigh, reaching for the glass of whisky to his left and taking a sip. Anna had left him alone since Miss French had stormed out in high dudgeon, but now she was leaning against the door, head tilted slightly as she looked at him.

“It’s almost midnight,” she said. “You should get some rest, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I know. I’ll go up in a minute.”

He put down the glass, running his hands over his face and yawning.

“Any word on tomorrow’s papers?” he asked tiredly. “Or do I not want to know?”

“_The Guardian _ are doing an in-depth piece on the de-funding of libraries and the links to declining social standards in local communities.”

“Of course they bloody are,” he grumbled. “Don’t tell me, library closures have been shown to lead to the complete breakdown of social order, cannibalism and eventual Armageddon.”

“I’m not sure they’re going quite that far,” said Anna, walking over to perch on the edge of the table. “Although give it a week and a few more internet memes…”

Sutherland’s mouth twitched in a half-smile.

“Is Ursula doing the _ Today _ interview?” he asked.

“Yes. She’s got everything under control.”

“Glad one of us has,” he muttered. “Maybe I should have let her meet with Miss French. Would probably have been more productive.”

“At least you didn’t shout at her,” Anna pointed out. “There’s that.”

“Believe me, I was bloody tempted,” he said, frowning. “The woman clearly despises me, and made no attempt to hide it. I’ve no idea why I let you talk me into seeing her.”

Anna shoved him with her foot.

“I like her,” she said, and Sutherland grunted.

“She’s mouthy, opinionated, and has no respect for authority,” he said.

“Probably _ why _ I like her.”

He smiled a little, and turned back to the folder in front of him.

“What’s that?” she asked, leaning in to look over his shoulder. Sutherland sat back with a sigh, flipping through the pages.

“I said I’d take a look,” he said. “It’s research - a proposal that she tried to put to the Council. Was half expecting her to start setting up a bloody PowerPoint presentation.”

“And we both know how you love those.”

He grinned at that, turning a page and tapping a pen absently against the papers as he read..

“Anything interesting in there?” she asked, and he glanced up.

“It’s well-researched,” he admitted. “The wider benefits of a local library and its impact on disadvantaged communities. Some of the connections she’s made may be debatable, but I can’t deny the quality of the source material.”

“Anything we can use?” she asked, and he sighed, sinking back in his chair a little.

“We’re here to push the new defence contract, Anna. It has an economic impact of many billions of pounds and thousands of jobs. This?” He picked up the folder and tossed it back onto the table. “Miniscule.”

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged, “but maybe that makes it easier to consider as part of the wider economic package.”

Sutherland frowned at her.

“Don’t you start in on me as well,” he said. “You know as well as I do that spending on this kind of thing is up to local authorities.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t think about it,” she said. “You said yourself she’d outlined some wider benefits.”

“So?”

“So, include it in the upcoming consultation on community cohesion.”

Sutherland growled under his breath, pushing out of the chair and beginning to pace.

“You think I don’t have enough to do, without coddling every member of the electorate that chooses to go toe-to-toe with me in the street?” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this!”

“No, but maybe Miss French does,” she reasoned. “You could bring her in as a consultant.”

Sutherland whirled to face her.

“A bloody consultant?” he demanded. “She’s a small-town librarian!”

“She has a Master’s from Cambridge,” said Anna patiently. “She’s hardly unqualified. Plus she has first-hand experience of disadvantaged communities. She’ll add some authenticity, and lend you a connection to deprived areas in the north. Which are things you badly need right now, hopelessly out of touch as you are.”

Sutherland stared at her, outraged.

“What the actual _ fuck_, Anna!”

She stifled a giggle.

“Did you just say ‘what the actual fuck’?”

“Isn’t it what all the young people come out with?” he said waspishly, and she smirked. 

“One of many reasons why _ you _should never say it.”

“I bet Miss bloody French says it all the bloody time.”

“Like I said, authenticity,” she said, still grinning. “You can’t deny most of the people helping you make policy are pale, male and stale. Not to mention almost entirely from within the M-25. She’s like a breath of fresh air. No wonder the press love her.”

“Being young, pretty and belligerent doesn’t make her qualified to tell me what to bloody do.”

“So,” said Anna, folding her arms and sounding satisfied. “You do think she’s pretty.”

“I’m hopelessly out of touch, not fucking blind,” he snapped, running a hand over his face in frustration, and she chuckled.

“Okay, but she’s also intelligent,” she said. “She’s articulate, she’s passionate...” 

“She’s idealistic,” he said dismissively. 

“Exactly,” she insisted. “She cares about the less fortunate, the kind of people we need to start winning over. And Fiona Black has been sniffing around, trying to entice her over to the Dark Side. If you don’t reach out to Belle French now, before you know it she’ll be helping the Opposition produce some sort of groundbreaking policy that wins hearts and minds that we can’t afford to lose.”

“Fuck it all!” 

Sutherland slumped into his chair with a sigh. He was silent for a moment, thinking it over, and eventually shook his head.

“She won’t agree.”

“Want to bet?” said Anna. “You can be very persuasive, if you put your mind to it.”

“I’m not even sure I want her on the team, I’m not going fucking begging!” he snapped.

“Not asking you to beg,” she said. “Just be - charming.”

Sutherland sent her a look of incredulity.

“Charming?” he said. “She’d cut my bollocks off if I tried.”

“At least be polite,” she said. “Tell her you were interested in what she’s put together. Which is the truth.”

Sutherland sighed, glaring at her.

“I need a fucking cigarette,” he said, and Anna looked extremely self-satisfied.

“That’s a yes, then?”

“Alright, fine!” he said wearily. “I’ll speak to her. But no press this time. I’m not having my arse handed to me on camera any more than I can help it, okay?”

“Good idea,” she said. “Now go on, get some bloody sleep. You have schoolchildren to talk to, hospital patients to console—”

“—and a wolverine in four-inch heels to coax into a collaboration,” he finished. “Can’t fucking wait.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: "Anna insists it will look good if Sutherland is the one bringing Belle the folders back to wherever she is."

Sutherland had spent a restless night, and felt tired and irritable the next day. Press briefings and the planned visits to a local school and hospital were the last thing he felt like doing, but he drank several cups of coffee and ate a good breakfast, which made him feel a little more human. If no less irritable.

One of the chief reasons for his bad mood faced him on every news channel: Miss French, with her flashing blue eyes and perfect lips, puffed up with righteous indignation and berating him in the marketplace. He sounded calm when he spoke to her, his demeanour smooth and unruffled, but some of the newsroom guests on the early morning newspaper review segments still found something to criticise. Sutherland scowled from his place on the couch as they wondered aloud whether his lack of reaction suggested that he didn’t care about the suffering of ordinary people in deprived constituencies like Avonleigh. 

“Public service passion standing up to posh privilege,” announced a left-leaning columnist, a disdainful twist of his lips showing beneath one of those hipster beards as he shook out the paper. “Sutherland has to expect more of this as we get deeper into the election year. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction with the Government, and I’m sure the redoubtable Miss French is only the first of many to confront him over his record.”

“There’s a certain amount of glee all over Twitter at Miss French’s outburst,” added his female counterpart. “I won’t repeat the hashtag that seems to be trending, though.”

“Belle French is only saying what many in the country are thinking,” went on Hipster Beard. “Looks as though Sutherland might have his work cut out for him in appealing to ordinary working people.”

“It’s not as though I’ve had a lack of bloody critics up to now,” growled Sutherland, glancing at the coffee table, where Miss French’s folder of research still sat. He still hadn’t decided what to say to her.

“No press were allowed in when the two met for a discussion last night, but I suspect the Prime Minister might find it difficult to charm his way out of this one.”

“I’m not trying to charm my way anywhere,” said Sutherland loudly, as though the panel could hear him.

“What have I told you about yelling at the TV?” Anna swept into the room with an armful of newspapers and her free hand clutching his leather briefcase. “Turn that off, we have to be on the move soon.”

“Fucking gladly,” he muttered, flicking at the remote control and shutting off those having a laugh at his expense. “Any coverage of what we actually came here for?”

“Some,” she said. “Not as much as we’d like. Which is why today is important.”

Sutherland ran a hand over his face.

“Fine,” he said tiredly. “It’s the school first, yeah?”

“We’re scheduled to be at St Cuthbert’s in thirty minutes.”

“Any more coffee?”

Anna gave him a flat look.

“You already look as though your bloodstream’s pure caffeine.”

“Yes, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

She sighed heavily, dropping the newspapers on the table.

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when you get heart palpitations.”

“As if.”

She poured him another coffee, and one for herself.

“That’s it. It’s not very hot, either.”

“It’ll do.”

Anna sat down on the couch next to him, crossing her legs and giving him a thoughtful look.

“Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“Not much.”

“What’s the matter?”

Sutherland gave her a level look.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, the Belle French thing’ll blow over,” she said impatiently, waving a hand. “Especially with what you plan to do with her. Assuming she agrees, of course.”

“I think you should ask her,” he said. “I’m willing to bet she’d respond better to you than to me.”

Anna shook her head.

“If you give the folder of research back and ask her yourself, it’ll look better,” she said. “She’s more likely to be persuaded that you’re taking her seriously that way.”

“I’m not making another press opportunity out of this,” he said impatiently. “Either she’s interested or she isn’t; I’m not having the whole thing play out on national media.”

“So go over there before we leave,” she said. “Wait until all the press are on the bus and pop to the library. That way you’ll be assured of some privacy.”

“So she can tell me to fuck off without anyone hearing, you mean?”

Anna looked irritated, slapping her hands down on her thighs.

“Why are you so convinced she’ll be hostile?”

“Experience?”

“From what you told me, your meeting last night was perfectly civil,” she countered. “And you’ve faced far more urgent crises and not batted an eyelid. What’s making you lose sleep over this?”

Sutherland hesitated, reaching for his coffee as he thought it over.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It bothers me. Can’t explain it.”

She was watching him with a shrewd expression that usually meant she had worked something out, but wasn’t ready to tell him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it anyway, so he drained the lukewarm coffee, pulling a face.

“Come on, we can think about Miss French later,” he said, pushing up off the couch. “St Cuthbert’s, right?”

* * *

Thirty minutes later Sutherland was walking down a school corridor with the Deputy Head of St Cuthbert’s, Mrs Nolan. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with a pixie cut and a kind smile. The press pack, kept in line by Anna, followed as they walked, and Mrs Nolan explained a little of the history of the school, and its more recent issues. 

“The school’s pretty much at capacity right now,” she said. “Class sizes have increased over the past couple of years, but we’re still just about on target.”

“Do you have trouble filling teaching vacancies?” asked Sutherland, and she shrugged.

“I think our turnover is less than the inner cities, but sick leave has increased with the class sizes. We’re forced to use more substitutes than I would like, and we’ve had to cut back on after-school programmes.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know what the kids would do if it wasn’t for the parents that run sports clubs. And Belle with her classes at the library, of course.”

_ Of course_, he thought wryly.

“I thought you could meet with the Year Threes,” she said, drawing to a stop outside a classroom door. “They’re doing a project on Vikings.”

The classroom was bright and cheerful, pictures of Viking longboats and Norse gods pinned up on the walls and the children, all around seven or eight, seated around tables with paper and paints. They looked up, eyeing the visitors with curiosity.

“Good morning everyone!” called Mrs Nolan.

“Good morning Mrs Nolan,” chorused the class. Mrs Nolan put her hands together.

“I’m sure you all remember me saying that the Prime Minister would be visiting us today,” she said. “He’s come to take a look at your project work, and these nice people have come with him to take some pictures.”

One ear on the clacking of cameras around him, Sutherland crossed to squat down by the nearest table. A small girl with round glasses and two brown braids was carefully painting a large tree with spreading branches.

“Hey,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

“Effie,” said the girl, not looking at him.

“Is that for your project?”

“It’s Yggdrasil,” she said placidly, brush swirling on the paper.

“It’s very good,” he said. “I was never much use at drawing when I was your age. Or any age, really.” 

Effie finally looked at him, her thick glasses giving her a somewhat owlish expression. Eventually she nodded, as though she had remembered something.

“You were on the telly,” she said decidedly. Sutherland smiled.

“That’s right.”

“Miss Belle shouted at you,” she added, and Sutherland felt his smile slip a little.

“Yes, she certainly did.”

“I like Miss Belle,” she said, dipping her brush in the paint again. “I’m sure if you say sorry, she’ll be nice to you again.”

Sutherland wanted to sigh. Flashes in the air made him very aware that the press were getting every moment of an eight year old giving him advice on how to handle Miss French.

“Do you go to the library?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she said eagerly. “I go every weekend, and just read all day! Miss Belle makes me tea. And she has biscuits.”

“Chocolate biscuits?” he asked, and she beamed.

“One day we had chocolate fingers.”

Sutherland put a hand up to cup his mouth, as though they were sharing a secret.

“I like to dunk those in my tea,” he whispered, and she giggled, nodding.

“What would you do if the library wasn’t there?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose

“Dunno.”

“Is there anywhere else you can go to read?” he asked. “What about home?”

Effie rolled her eyes.

“I have twin brothers,” she said, in a deadpan tone, and Sutherland nodded.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Effie,” he said. “Good luck with your project.”

“Thank you.” She gave him another thoughtful look. “Be nice to Miss Belle.”

“Of course.”

Sutherland straightened up, mouth flattening as he moved on to the next table. _ Miss French certainly has her supporters. I suppose it’s hardly surprising if she’s teaching them all after school. Perhaps once we get to the hospital I’ll finally be free of her. Unless she has a part-time job as a bloody paramedic. _

* * *

Two hours later, Sutherland was walking the hospital corridors with Miss Fay, the Matron. He was due to tour the wards before sitting down with the Board of Directors for a lunch meeting. The hospital smelt strongly of disinfectant, and ahead of him a janitor with a beard and a surly expression was mopping the floor.

“We had an outbreak of norovirus in December.” Miss Fay walked serenely along the hospital corridor beside Sutherland, brown hair brushed into a neat, shining bun. “It meant closing one of the wards during a flu outbreak, but I ordered a deep clean, so we managed to get it under control.”

“Did that result in any cancellation of procedures?” asked Sutherland, and she sniffed.

“Some, but we’ve rescheduled ninety percent of them. It was more a case of delay than cancellation. Difficult decisions needed to be made for the good of all.”

“Indeed.” 

They drew closer to the janitor, who had grounded his mop and was glaring at Sutherland from beneath heavy brows.

“Sorry we’re undoing all your hard work on this floor,” said Sutherland apologetically, and the man’s scowl grew.

“Not as sorry as this town’s gonna be when the library closes,” he said roughly.

“Leroy!” snapped Miss Fay, and his scowl twisted into something sullen as he drew back. Sutherland shook his head.

_ Miss French again. I can’t escape the woman. She’s bloody everywhere in this town. _

“I keep hearing a lot about this library,” he said. “You make use of it yourself?”

Leroy raised his head, a suspicious look on his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Belle helped me get this job. Let me use the computer, helped me with my application - she’s like an angel in this town. And book club once a week’s the only thing that gets me out of the house in the evenings. Take that away, you take the town’s heart, don’t you get that?”

“The Prime Minister isn’t taking anything away,” said Miss Fay stiffly. “And I suggest you find another floor to mop. Go on, now.”

Leroy muttered something under his breath, pushing his cleaning cart with him as he stomped off.

“I apologise for Leroy,” said Miss Fay. “He rather idolises the librarian, it has to be said.”

“So I see,” said Sutherland. “Do you know Miss French?”

She sniffed again.

“I don’t use the library myself, but she runs a book reservation and collection service for our longer-term patients. Brings a trolley of books around twice a week.”

“That sounds like a useful service,” said Sutherland. “What do the patients think?”

“Oh, I’m told they appreciate it. She reads to a few of those with impaired vision.”

“Sounds as though she’s very dedicated to her profession,” he observed, and she shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“What impact do you think the loss of that service would have on the patients?” he asked.

“Well, I daresay they’d get over it,” she said. “No one’s irreplaceable, are they? Their families would have to step up, instead of leaving it to others. Follow me, I’ll show you around Paediatrics.”

She marched on, and Sutherland shared a look with Anna before following.

“Miss French’s role seems to extend beyond that of a regular librarian,” he murmured, watching the back of Miss Fay’s head as they walked.

“All the more reason to have her on our team, wouldn’t you say?” whispered Anna, and Sutherland sighed.

“Alright, fine,” he said, his voice still low. “I’ll talk to her.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has taken ages. I got distracted by other fics (story of my life) and recently got inspired to pick this up again. Last time, Anna had convinced Sutherland to ask Belle to get involved in the development of Government policy. Here's what happened next.

Belle gathered stray books and stacked them on the cart, yawning as she checked the reference numbers on the spines. It was past time to close up; she had spent most of her day trying to avoid the questions of reporters in between issuing books and running the after-school club for pre-teens, and she was tired. She wheeled the cart over to the racks, wincing as she did so. Her feet ached more than usual, and she was tempted to kick off her high shoes. The sound of the door opening made her want to sigh.

“I’m afraid we’re closed,” she called. “If you’re here to return a book, please use the drop box.”

“I was actually hoping to return this personally.”

A now-familiar voice made her start, and she turned quickly. Sutherland was standing in the doorway, in a different, equally perfect suit, his dark blue tie standing out against the flawless white of his shirt. Two burly men with identical buzz-cuts stood behind him, expressions placid as their eyes darted around, looking for threats. Sutherland was holding up the folder she had left on his desk, one eyebrow raised, and Belle rounded the cart, taking a step towards him. She nodded towards the officers at his back.

“Are you expecting to be attacked in the library?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Expecting an attack is their job.”

“Huh,” she said. “Well. As much as I might disagree with your policies, I’d like to think we can be civil with one another.”

“I hope so, too,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder, nodding to the officers. They both eyed Belle before stepping back a little, and Sutherland turned back to Belle, offering her the folder.

“I didn’t expect to get it back,” she said, and he shrugged.

“I said I’d return it, didn’t I?”

“Hmm.” She put her hands on her hips. “A politician keeping his word. Is the world ending?”

His mouth twisted, eyes glinting in what she thought was amusement.

“Well, I suppose I deserved that.”

Belle bit her lip to keep from smiling, and took the folder from him.

“Did you read it?” she asked.

“I did.”

“And?”

Sutherland took a step closer, and she felt her grip on the folder tighten.

“You make some interesting arguments,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really.” He eyed her steadily. “We’re proposing a consultation on community cohesion. I want it to be fairly wide-ranging, and to consider what the Government might want to introduce to address inequality of opportunity. Particularly in more deprived areas.”

“Trying to broaden your appeal?” she asked dryly.

“Yes, in a word,” he said. “Do you disapprove?”

“I might see it as a cynical play for votes in election year,” she allowed. “But if it leads to real change for people then I’m not going to complain.”

“Good,” he said lightly. “Then you’ll be more inclined to agree to my proposal.”

Belle blinked.

“Proposal?”

“Yes.” He tugged at the cuff of his shirt, briefly exposing the gold cufflink. “I’d like you to join us.”

“You’d like me to - what?” She shook her head.

“I’d like you to take part in the consultation,” he said patiently. “Your contributions would be valuable.”

Belle stared at him for a moment.

“You want a - a  _ town librarian _ to take part in a Government consultation?” she said disbelievingly, and he shrugged.

“I’m informed that you have a Master’s from Cambridge.”

“I do, but—”

“And it’s clear you have first-hand knowledge of the struggles faced by people living in deprived areas.”

“Yes, but—”

“And most importantly,” he continued. “You are neither impressed nor intimidated by me, and I suspect you act from something other than self-interest. Which makes your input most likely to be honest.”

Belle opened her mouth, closed it again, and shook her head.

“While all of that’s true,” she said. “I’m not sure what it is you want me to do.”

Sutherland gestured to the folder in her hand.

“Your research was good and your arguments carried weight,” he said. “I’d like to see those points fleshed out and discussed as part of the broader policy proposals. I’m willing to consider the provision of library services specifically in the consultation, and I’d very much appreciate your input.”

“Okay, but what does that mean in practice for Avonleigh?” she asked. “Given that I’ve been told I’m losing funding in two months?”

“Oh…” Sutherland showed his teeth, lifting a hand and spreading his fingers. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement with the local authority while we’re in this - transition period.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed.

“So I can keep the library open?”

“I’m afraid that’s not my decision.”

His eyes gleamed, his voice a low purr, and she found herself squeezing her thighs together. She licked her lips, raising her chin and trying to ignore her thumping heart.

“But you have influence, right?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” he said lazily. “But I’m confident that something can be worked out for the good of all.”

Belle eyed him, wishing he’d just give her a straight answer.  _ Bloody politicians. I think this is as good as it gets. _

“Let’s say I agree,” she said. “What do you want from me?”

“I’ll need you to come to London,” he said. “My Chief of Staff will be in touch very soon. See if you can expand your research to broaden the wider strategic elements. I’d like you to deliver a presentation to the policy team in two weeks.”

_ “Two weeks!”  _ She stared at him, eyes wide.

“Well, you know what they say, Miss French,” he said. “A week is a long time in politics. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot, hmm?”

Belle could feel that her mouth was open, and snapped it shut, clutching the folder of research to her chest.

“Alright,” she said, and squared her jaw. “I can do it.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

He smiled again, and bowed his head a little.

“Until then, Miss French.”

He held out his hand, and Belle took it automatically, feeling the warm press of his fingers around hers. She glanced up, his eyes catching and holding hers. She could smell the scent of his cologne, spice and wood and an undertone of musk that made her belly tighten, and she swallowed nervously.  _ You do  _ not  _ like this man, remember that! Tell your libido to take a bloody seat! _

“I look forward to working with you,” he said.

He released her hand, stepping back, and Belle let herself breathe.

“Anna Marshall will be in touch,” he added. “Good evening, Miss French.”

He turned on his heel, sauntering towards the door, and one of the officers opened it and slipped out, the other falling in behind him. The door closed behind them, and Belle sagged in relief, her heart thudding in her chest.  _ Two weeks. Two weeks to expand my research and prepare a presentation that’ll convince the Westminster elite to make a difference in every town in the country. No biggie. _

She let out a sigh, clutching the folder of notes to her chest. At least it would give her time to get over her unexpected and wholly unwanted crush on the man she held responsible for losing the library in the first place. There was that.


	9. Chapter 9

With the library doors closed and locked behind him, Sutherland made his way to the waiting car, flanked by his security officers. Anna was already on the back seat, his briefcase beside her beneath her laptop. Sutherland nodded his thanks to Sergeant Nolan as he opened the car door, and slipped onto the back seat next to Anna. She was tapping away at her mobile phone, frowning at whatever it was she was reading, but she sent him a brief smile as he clicked the seat belt into place. The heavy thump of the door closing was a welcome relief, and he mentally said goodbye and good fucking riddance to Avonleigh. He was struck by how tired he was, his body aching and eager for rest. With any luck he could get some sleep on the journey back to London.

“Well?” said Anna, and Sutherland let his head roll back against the seat with a sigh as the car pulled away.

“She says she’ll do it,” he said, and she looked satisfied.

“Told you.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” He shifted his position, his body wanting to melt into the cushions. “She wanted to know what impact her agreement would have on the library closure.”

Anna frowned at that.

“What did you tell her?” she asked. “I did some digging and I doubt there’s much to work with in terms of the local authority budget, even if they were open to persuasion.”

“Oh, I was careful not to promise anything,” he said waving a hand. “Wouldn’t hurt to put some feelers out, though. I’d like to keep her on side if at all possible, loose bloody cannon though she is.”

“Leopold White’s the MP here,” she said. “I’d suggest speaking to him, but with the election coming I suspect he wants to take a more belligerent stance against the Government than usual.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Sutherland ran his hands over his face. “What about the Council leader?”

“Staunch Labour. Big supporter of Fiona Black, so if there’s any investing in local services to be done, he’ll want it to be on her watch. No help there.”

“Bollocks!”

“Yep.”

He sighed, slumping down a little further.

“Any other suggestions?”

“I did have one thought,” she said. “There’s that local authority grant package we were putting together. We could tweak that, maybe bring forward the rollout by a month.”

“That’s for schooling,” he said impatiently.

“Yes, but with the work Miss French does with the local schools, I’m sure we can find a way around it,” she said. “She is providing a fair bit of before and after school activities, after all.”

Sutherland ran a hand over his mouth, feeling the scratch of new stubble against his palm.

“We’d need to ensure that they have to use the funds for the purpose we want.”

“Already thought about that,” she said, sounding satisfied. “It’ll only mean redrafting the documentation a little, shouldn’t take long.”

“Hmm.” He thought it over. “It’ll buy us six months, if we put the appropriate caveats in place, I suppose.” 

“It’ll also show you’re serious about addressing the concerns Miss French has raised,” she said. “Plus it’ll earn her goodwill.”

Sutherland scowled.

“When did I start running scared of mouthy Australians?” he demanded, and Anna chuckled.

“Oh, I never said you were running scared,” she said. “I think you’re evenly matched, all things considered.”

“Well, lucky me,” he said sarcastically. “I’d hate to be plagued by inferior opposition.”

She was grinning, and held up her phone.

“Shall I speak to Graham about tweaking the grant specifications?”

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll need you to handle Miss French when she comes to London, by the way. She’ll need accommodation, security clearance…”

“She works with kids, so she’ll already have an advanced DBS,” said Anna. “We can fast-track the rest. I’ll give her a call tomorrow, get the checks started.”

“Good.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out another heavy sigh. “She’ll need to understand that all matters pertaining to the consultation are confidential. I don’t want her giving any surprise interviews in the bloody _ Guardian_.”

“I’ll make sure that’s part of the onboarding paperwork,” she said, and gave him a shrewd look. “One way to keep the issue out of the papers, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re a sneaky bastard at times,” she observed, and he gave her a slanting grin.

“Takes one to know one.”

Anna chuckled at that, and went back to tapping out something on her phone again. Sutherland could feel weariness rising up inside him like a wave, and fought to stay awake.

“What about the rest of it?” he asked. “What’s been the reaction to the visit?”

“You’ll be pleased to know that the encounter with Miss French has been bumped down the news schedule,” she said. “The main story was the new contract and your visits to the hospital and school.”

“Good.”

“Of course your conversation with the adorable Effie rather brought Miss French back to the attention of the press,” she added, ignoring his groan. “But on the whole you came across very well in that, so I’m counting it as a win.”

“Well, at least I can charm an eight year old,” he said sourly.

“Hmm.” Anna looked amused. “I think you and Miss French could get along very well if you weren’t both determined not to.”

Sutherland snorted.

“Not likely.”

“We’ll see.”

She was still smirking, and he decided not to ask her what she meant, instead nodding at the briefcase between them.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Might as well get some work done on the way back. What have you got for me?”

Anna put down her phone and opened up her laptop.

“Sir Philip has asked for a meeting early tomorrow. Security briefing on the latest domestic terror threat. He’s sent through some preliminary documentation.”

Sutherland nodded, pushing himself upright and pinching the bridge of his nose to clear his tired eyes. _No rest for the wicked._

* * *

“Earth to Belle!”

Belle jumped at the sound of clicking fingers, and glanced up to see Merida grinning at her, bright red curls tumbling around her shoulders. She shoved aside the thoughts swirling around her brain; the research she had done in the week since she had made the agreement with Sutherland had been stealing all her free time and eating into her sleep, and while it had been interesting, she had found it difficult to know when to stop.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Miles away.”

“So I see.” Merida sat back in her chair. “You look as though you’re half asleep.”

“Yeah.” Belle yawned, pushing herself a little more upright. “Insomnia’s been a bitch this past week, it has to be said.”

“Is this about going to London?” asked Leroy, shutting his book and setting it aside. “You’ll be amazing!”

“I wish I had your confidence,” said Belle dolefully. “I’ve spent every night doing research and putting this presentation together, and I’m not sure anything I say is gonna make a difference.”

“Of course it will!” Astrid assured her, eyes sparkling. “Leroy’s right, you’ll be _ amazing_! The Prime Minister himself asked you to contribute! He wouldn’t have done that unless he thought you had something worth listening to.”

“Maybe he was just trying to shut me up,” said Belle dryly. “I had to promise not to speak to the press about anything connected to the consultation. Which effectively stops me saying anything about the library closure.”

“Bastards,” said Merida, reaching for a chocolate biscuit and lounging back in her chair with one leg over the arm. “Still, big picture. You could make a real difference if they take up any of your suggestions.”

“Well, that’s what made me agree to it,” admitted Belle. “It’s a big ‘if’, though.” 

“What are you gonna do with the library while you’re in London?” asked Leroy.

“Well, it’ll be half-term, so the breakfast and after-school clubs aren’t an issue,” said Belle. “I’m reducing the opening times for that week; I’ve asked Ariel to cover for me during the day, but she can only work until five. I’m afraid we’ll have to put the book club on hold, too. Unless one of you wants to host it at the pub.”

“I’ll do it,” said Merida, waving her chocolate biscuit. “Maybe we can Zoom you or something. If you’re not too busy tearing into the PM. I’d hate to get in the way of that.”

“I’m hoping we can aim for a more constructive relationship,” said Belle, in a wry tone. “Satisfying as it was to yell at him for a few minutes, I think I’ll achieve more if we can be civil.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Astrid. “I’m sure he wants to help people as much as you do, deep down.”

Merida and Leroy snorted loudly, and Astrid shrugged.

“Maybe _ very _deep down.”

“Maybe,” acknowledged Belle. “I guess - I guess you wouldn’t become a public servant without wanting to do some good, right?”

“You two think everyone’s as nice and selfless as you are, that’s the problem,” said Merida, pointing at Belle and Astrid. “The public service thing might hold at the lower levels, but you don’t get to be Prime Minister without a fuckton of ambition, arrogance and bloody ruthlessness.”

Leroy grunted agreement, and Belle sighed.

“I probably won’t have anything to do with him, anyway,” she said. “I’ve been liaising with that Marshall woman. Besides, it’s not as though the Prime Minister is gonna concern himself with every consultation going, is it? I doubt our paths will even cross.”

* * *

Belle had not visited London in some years, and had certainly never had the run of an entire apartment when she did. Anna Marshall met her at the station with a large and comfortable car. She had explained that Belle's accommodation was only a few minutes’ walk from Downing Street, and had shown Belle to her apartment door, handing over the key and a security pass attached to a lanyard. She had then left her to it, and Belle had alternated between watching television and finding herself unable to concentrate on it, reading over her research, and eating her way through the Thai meal she had ordered.

Sleeping in a strange room was difficult, waking up disorientating, and Belle yawned, feeling drained and groggy as she listened to the faint noise of traffic outside. She had slept poorly, but remembered that she was to be there at nine sharp. She sat up, running her hands over her face, her heart thumping as she checked the time. Six o’clock. Three hours to fill before she had to be at Number 10. She threw back the bedclothes, heading for the shower with a determined stride. _ May as well start as I mean to go on. _

She was too nervous to want much breakfast, but she ate some fruit and yogurt and drank some tea. As the time for her meeting approached, Belle walked up Downing Street, clutching the pass that Anna had given her and glancing over her shoulder at the police watching her approach the Prime Minister’s residence. It was quarter to nine; she had been ready to go since eight o’clock, but figured there was no point getting there too early, much as sitting around and waiting had been making her nervous. The police had let her through the barriers after checking her ID, and she assumed her name was on a list of those permitted entrance. She wished she had thought to ask Anna who else was part of the consultation.

There was a gaggle of reporters in the street, which Anna had forewarned her about, and they seemed to turn in her direction as one: a many-legged creature thrusting microphones towards her and barking out questions. Belle kept her chin raised, feeling as though she was floating somewhere above her body and watching it walk past flashing cameras towards the door of Number 10. She barely heard the questions shouted at her, and it was a relief when the door opened as she approached. Anna came out, looking calm and efficient in her grey suit and sending her a brief smile as she extended a hand.

“Morning, Miss French,” she said. “Ignore the press, they can wait for the official statement.”

“Right,” said Belle numbly.

She followed Anna into the house, glancing around with wide eyes. The heavy door closed behind them, cutting off the noise of the reporters in an instant. Anna motioned to a young woman in a nondescript black suit, carrying a set of heavy folders. 

“Give me a call when the next arrives,” she said. “Is he in there?”

“Just,” said the woman, glancing curiously at Belle. “Everything’s ready to go.”

“Good. Miss French?” 

Anna glanced over her shoulder at Belle, who was hugging the folder to her chest as though it were a shield. She felt a little light-headed, and Anna seemed to sense it.

“Just follow me,” she said kindly. “I’ll take you through to the briefing room. I’m guessing you could do with a coffee, hmm?”

“God, please!” said Belle fervently, and fell into step beside her.

They walked swiftly along corridors and up a set of stairs, and Belle tried not to get distracted by the surroundings or the staff hurrying here and there. She kept her focus on the floor, in the direction she was walking.

“You’re the first to arrive,” said Anna. “Wanted to make an early start?”

“I hate being late,” said Belle. “Makes me anxious.”

“Good,” said Anna briskly, turning into another corridor. “Oh - the punctuality, not the anxiety.”

Belle smiled tremulously, and Anna paused outside a set of double doors, swivelling on her toes on the thick carpet to face Belle.

“Here we are, then,” she said lightly, and opened one of the doors. “I’ll chase up that coffee.”

“It's here.”

A voice from inside the room made Belle jump, and she peered past Anna. A long, wide mahogany table was set about with twelve chairs, a tray containing cups, saucers, and pots of tea and coffee in the middle. Sutherland was leaning on the table, the sleeves of his dark blue suit rising up a little to expose the cuffs of a crisp white shirt, long fingers splayed on the dark wood as he met Belle’s gaze. The light caught the silvery hairs at his temples, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards a little, and she licked her lips, sucking in a brief, nervous breath.

“Miss French,” he said pleasantly. “How good of you to come.”


End file.
